


The Old Stories

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: Meet You at the Bar: Seia Shepard x Garrus Vakarian [7]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Fluff, after the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, there's a lifetime's worth of memories to build.  Two old soldiers spend their twilight years incessantly teasing each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Old Stories

Garrus always liked the morning best, whenever they were planetside. He liked the ritual of it, getting Shepard’s tea ready; boiling the water, steeping the loose leaf ceylon, adding the milk. Then he would prepare his own coffee. Shepard had protested, at first, but after tasting her attempt at turian coffee a few times, he’d thoroughly banished her from the kitchen.

In space he preferred the quiet after most of the crew had gone to bed, when he could pull Shepard into a deserted corner of the cargo bay and kiss her, hard, or when they’d find an open observation port and stand before the stars, her arm around his waist, his hand reaching up to rest upon her shoulder.

In all these years together they’d created their routines, their habits, their story. He liked it. He liked having the same fight the hundredth time, retelling the old adventures, ribbing on the old jokes.

He told her so, once. She smiled indulgently, then said, “I never pegged a turian for being so nostalgic. But I have to admit, I can never get enough of your terrible jokes, even when I’ve heard them all before.” She laughed, the lines at the corners of her eyes crinkling. Crow’s feet, she told him they were called. He loved the fact a human could smile so often that it could mark her face forever. He told her that, too.

"Garrus, are you calling me old?" she said accusingly.

"Old as the hills," he said with great superiority. Of course, she was a whopping three years older than he was.

"Lucky for you this old woman’s still got it," she teased. He still remembered the way she wore him out that day. Must have been ten or fifteen years ago, but the memory was a clear one.  


Shepard came downstairs this morning, her white hair rumpled, back bowed, all wrapped up in the Palaven-made night robes he’d given her one year. They were threadbare and patched over now. She could have bought new ones, but he knew that in her own way she was just as nostalgic as he was. The rows of little spaceships mounted on the wall above the stairs were a dead giveaway.

"Good morning," he said, carrying the tea to her place at the table. His shoulder and neck ached from stooping over the counter. The old wounds from Omega bothered him more these days, it seemed. "Sleep well? I was about to wake you. Don’t you have an appointment today?"

"I didn’t forget," she scowled. "I just don’t want to go. There’s a difference." She yawned, settling down in her chair. He sat beside her, placed his hand over hers.

"We’ve talked about this, Shepard. Remember our agreement."

"I think that’s your agreement, Vakarian," she said, raising her eyebrows. "As I recall I’ve never made any promises."

"Funny, that’s not how I remember it," he said. "Come on. You and I both know that you don’t get to die first." He grinned, but the smile faded quickly. They had been young when they had first started this argument, though at the time they had assumed death by battle, not by old age. Still, though, the argument was a good one. "You already got to die once already, so the fun’s gone. You may as well let me go first and get my turn. Besides, you’re tough. You’ll barely miss me." He paused, considering. "Well, you may miss my skills in the bedroom, but surely you’ll move on quickly from this tired old turian."

"Oh please," she said, squeezing his hand. "I’d be a mess without you. Who would make my tea in the morning? How would anything ever get calibrated? No, I’d better die first. That way you can see how to do it in style."

"Shepard," he warned. "I’m dying first, and that’s final. I’m putting my foot down here. Which means you’d better not miss your appointment today with the specialist."

"Fine, Garrus," she chuckled. "You win this time. I’ll find some other sexy turian to make my tea for me."

"Good," said Garrus. "Hang on. You do mean you’re going to wait until after I’m dead, right?”

—-

The days passed. Shepard was grumpily stumping around the house with a new cane, consulting occasionally with the Alliance. The people in charge seemed so young now, but they still valued what she had to say. Garrus was directing the household drones for cleaning the gutters and repainting the roof, as it was too difficult for him to climb up there himself these days. He knew Shepard would just be furious at him if he happened to break his neck. Hell, she might resurrect him and kill him again. So he let the drones do it.

The nights were getting colder. He didn’t like the chill in the air, or the way he could see his breath when they walked outside. Shepard knit him a horrible ugly cowl in blue and green, despite the arthritis beginning to gnarl her hands. He wore it gratefully. It seemed to warm him from the inside out, instead of the other way around.

One night they curled up beside the fireplace, Shepard with her tea in hand, Garrus setting some quiet music on. She was always cold these days, it seemed. He pulled off his cowl and arranged it around her shoulders, the fabric slipping down to one side on her narrower frame.

"How did your appointment go today?" he asked quietly, pulling her close to him. She burrowed against him, kissing his cheek before resting her head on his shoulder.

"Dr. Aswarian was very pleased," she said. "Looks like the remission is holding." She let out a soft sigh. "I love you, Vakarian."

"Love you too, Shepard." He could never get enough of the way this small human woman felt beside him. He stroked her hair, and they watched the light of the fire flicker and dance.

He woke up with a start. The air was cold, and he was dreadfully stiff and sore. But that wasn’t what had woken him. It was a sound, or more than that, a feeling. Shepard was leaning heavily against his side, still curled up beside him.

"Shepard?" he asked. He flicked on his omni-tool, pulled the lights on. He glanced down at the floor and saw her mug lying there on its side in a puddle of spilled tea. He turned to look at her. "Can’t believe we fell asleep. C’mon, we’d better get to bed before —"

There was a bluish cast to her face he had never seen before. Her chest was working far too hard to pull in air. Quickly he grabbed her shoulders and laid her down, resting her head against the armrest. Her eyelids flickered.

"Shepard, Shepard, come on," he said, fighting panic. She let out a gasp, and any remaining warmth in him vanished. He knew what agonal breathing was. How often had he seen it on the battlefield? But now it was here, in his wife, in the living room.

The medi-gel. Where was it? Somewhere upstairs. He couldn’t remember. Frantically he started punching in emergency codes to his omni-tool.

"Garrus," Shepard breathed. Her fingers curled, and slowly she lifted her hand, reached to touch him.

"I have to call the doctors, Shepard, they’ll know what to do," Garrus said, but his voice didn’t sound like his. He shook, violently.

But her hand touched his, and he felt the shaking quell. “I’m — ” She took in another awful breath. “I’m tired,” she gasped.

He looked at her. His Shepard. Her bright eyes were wide, her face pale, her mouth open and struggling. She was afraid. He remembered the old routines, the old arguments. He remembered her telling him she never wanted to come back again, like with Cerberus; she didn’t want to be monitored, tubed, helpless; she didn’t want to be alive and wish she wasn’t. Mostly, he remembered, she didn’t want to be afraid of what had happened to her before.

He closed down the omni-tool, and she nodded. The sound of her breathing was terrible. He knelt beside her, and kissed her forehead, her cheek, her neck, her hands, anywhere he could reach. Damn her, she was winning the argument. But he didn’t begrudge her for it. He only wished there could have been more time.

"I’m here, Shepard." He said it over and over; what else could he do? The breathing was changing, becoming more rapid, harsher.

She reached out again, trembling fingers against his scars. Unable to speak, she mouthed his name.

For a moment she held his gaze. He knew what she meant. She was asking without words if he would be okay. He knew that she was waiting for an answer.

Garrus remembered the old stories, the old jokes, a lifetime of love and joy and fights and laughs. He held her hand, held it tight.

"Shepard," he whispered. "You should go."

**Author's Note:**

> I was driving home from work and thought "'I should go' is hilarious. What's a good way to make that HIDEOUSLY DEPRESSING?'" At least with this they had a long life together of being giant dorks, but man, still one of the saddest ideas I've thought of.


End file.
